


Thorns

by Path



Category: Homestuck, MS Paint Adventures, Problem Sleuth (Webcomic)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-12
Updated: 2012-02-12
Packaged: 2017-10-31 00:58:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/338149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Path/pseuds/Path
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Admittedly, Problem Sleuth had a few expectations going into a relationship with the violent gangster Spades Slick. And he was kind of looking forward to them. The really unsettling part is finding out that Spades Slick is actually kind of... romantic. How disappointing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thorns

**Author's Note:**

> Just a short thing for the kink meme. Still having trouble writing; there really should have been more, but I just can't make it work.

It’s been a long time. A long, trying time.

You first met Spades Slick maybe a year ago, and since that first time you’ve been wrangling with an entirely inappropriate and poorly thought-out attraction to him. It’s terribly stupid and you’ve got no business having it at all, but the damn thing keeps making itself known at the most awkward of times, and you’ve had to learn to deal with it.

Learning to deal with what you want him to do to you has been the hard part. It’s one thing to come to terms with the thought that you want Spades Slick fast and hard. It’s another to get around all the baggage that comes with that. It’s not like wanting anyone else. He’s a criminal, for one, and you know the sort of casual debauchery that comes with that; the number of whores who had to scramble for a new job when you took down Kingpin’s empire is proof enough. Besides, everything about him broadcasts it. Spades Slick isn’t some tight-lipped deceptive guy (like his buddy Droog, for instance). His words are as sharp as his teeth and his interests are as dark as his suit.

He is, in short, a nasty bit of work, and you can’t figure out why anyone in their right mind would want to get a piece of that. You’re clearly not in your right mind, though, because you just can’t stop thinking about him. 

It crops up, as you already mentioned, at the worst times. You don’t mind so much when you go home at night and have yourself a hot shower and get thinking of his skinny, scarred body pressing up against yours, skin wet and, well, slick. You picture him lashing your wrists to the shower head and carving you up artistically so the water runs down red and your body aches in the near-boiling water. You finish with your eyes wide, fist mashed against the tiles, and your knees nearly collapse out from under you.

That’s fine. That’s more that fine. It’s messed up, and you’re not going to go tell anyone you’re doing it, but what you do in the privacy of your own bathroom is your business. The problem crops up instead when you’re out bringing justice to the streets, and you run into the whole damn Midnight Crew. Instead of your shower, your brain switches things around so it’s the back alley you’re currently facing off in. For a second, it’s only one person, not six, in the alley with you, and for a second, you get the perfectly clear image of you on your hands and knees, your own tie knotted around your wrists. A set of cold metal fingers has your hair in a death-grip, and the other set, only a little warmer, digs into your hip as Slick pounds into you in the yellow-lit night.

It’s times like that that your willpower and pulchritude are stretched to their limits, because it’s all you can do not to drag your team into something they’re really not cut out for, let alone expecting. You want to be mouthing off to him. You want to hound him until he makes you shut up. He’s got a lot of flaws; you’ve got a lot of material to use if you want to piss off Spades Slick. You’re out again, imagining him furious, hauling back and smacking the words out of you and leaving you spitting blood. Your knees get weak.

But you always grit your teeth, put on your second-best smile, and manage to drag the team out of their brief debacles with a minimum of awkward fantasy-spurred pauses.

You get the feeling Diamonds Droog notices. Or maybe he just always looks like he’s dissecting some poor animal. Either way, you worry. But not enough to stop.

You’re really not sure you could.

At any rate, the question’s moot, because after maybe a year of this, you ran into Spades Slick at your favourite divey bar, and despite his clear suspicion, shared a bottle of something with a kick like a boot to the face. You bought. Otherwise you know you’d never have gotten this far.

Maybe it was more than one bottle. You’re so high on possibility that you don’t really keep track. Your pockets leak money anyhow; you can never seem to hold onto it for more than a few days. You might as well spend it on something nice- if by “something nice”, you mean “something that’ll lower Spades Slick’s few inhibitions long enough for him to think dragging you home would be a good idea”. At any rate, the two of you are well and truly soused by the time you stumble out of the bar, and since his directions back to his place are incomprehensible, you half-carry him back to yours.

Your key’s in the door before he figures out where he is, then gets a smug, satisfied look on his face. You’re pleased; you won’t have to jump him after all. You open the door, give him your best (if a little wobbly) smile, and he leans in and up and kisses you. His non-robotic hand reaches up and touches your cheek for a second, and then the whole thing is over before you really get into it. Spades Slick gives you a breathless sharp-toothed grin, tells you the whole time wasn’t completely intolerable, and leaves.

You frown.

The doorstep looks awfully inviting, so you sit down on it, keys still dangling from the lock, and consider this new development with a hint of worry.

Maybe he’s drawing you on, you think, and then you remember the way he kissed you. Not to say you’re displeased exactly... but it was a lot more _gentle_ than you’d have anticipated. In your head, kissing Spades Slick should have been like wrestling a lawnmower. You put your fingers to your lips. You’re not bleeding. You didn’t even feel his teeth. 

He’s got to be baiting you, you repeat to yourself, but you can’t quite believe it. And you know you were lying when Spades Slick shows up on your doorstep the next night with a ratty bouquet. This isn’t the whirlwind pain-and-pleasure affair you were expecting. Spades Slick is _courting_ you.

You try not to look too disappointed, and you let him in. Maybe there’s still some thorns in those roses.


End file.
